


Burn and Shiver

by PsychicPineapple



Series: Burn and Shiver [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicPineapple/pseuds/PsychicPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt - <b>Bilbo finding Thorin in the forge, working. Also, the sweaty King has no shirt.</b></p><p>If Bilbo had spent less time ogling Thorin in the forge, and more time watching his footing, this would never have happened.<br/>_____<br/><i>Bilbo nodded, backing away. He still felt a little flustered, and he was sure his face was red as a beet. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Try not to get lost again,’ Thorin smiled.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘I’ll try my chest – best! I’ll try my best!’ Bilbo could have kicked himself over the blunder, but as it turned out he didn’t have to.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Thorin’s face transformed from an infuriatingly knowing smirk into a look of panic. He reached out with a hand, stepping forward quickly, ‘Bilbo, look out!’ </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn and Shiver

**Author's Note:**

> deanthefabulousunicorn on tumblr prompted **Bilbo finding Thorin in the forge, working. Also, the sweaty King has no shirt.**
> 
> And instead of a drabble I slipped and wrote this. It turned out rather sweeter than I had planned. Comments and kudos are appreciated!

Bilbo rounded yet another corner, scratching his head. He’d been in Erebor for four months now and was beginning to feel genuinely disheartened by his complete inability to navigate the place. It just all looked so _similar_ , he lamented as he looked around at the stone walls and engraved pillars; he felt as though he’d seen them a thousand times over. Taking a left turn at random – surely it couldn’t get him _more_ lost – he was encouraged to see flickering firelight at the end of the lane, and hear the familiar clanging of metal on metal. Hurrying forward, he passed through a grand archway and found he had emerged into the forges.  
  
Bilbo blinked against the heat and steam as he ventured further inwards. The air was filled with the harsh ring of hammers on steel; sparks flew up and molten metal flowed down as the smiths moved about the work. There was a Dwarf quite close to Bilbo, his head bent in concentration as he inspected his craft. He had long dark hair, scarcely braided, and a broad, powerful back. Bilbo was particularly sure of this latter observation, as the Dwarf wasn’t wearing anything above the waist. His skin was slick with sweat, muscles bunching as he hefted his hammer. There was a black smear of soot across his lower back, and Bilbo imagined reaching out and wiping it away, the slide of his fingers across all that hard, sweaty muscle, and he bit his lip at the thought.  
  
He was so lost in his vivid imaginings that he didn’t have time to react when the Dwarf turned to face him. ‘Bilbo?’  
  
‘Thorin!’ Bilbo gaped, for that was who had been so shamelessly ogling. And caught in the act too! But for all his embarrassment he found it hard to look away; as disarming as the view had been from the back, the front was scarcely better. Thorin’s broad chest was heavily furred, but beneath it his muscles were clearly defined. His waist was not narrow, like a man’s might have been, but thick and toned.

‘What on earth are you doing down here?’ Thorin asked, dropping the red-hot blade he’d been working on into a bucket of water. Steam rose up with a hiss, momentarily obscuring his features, and Bilbo quickly composed himself.

‘I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself lost, again,’ he admitted, embarrassed. ‘I was coming back from the library and must have taken a wrong turn. Or six.’

Thorin chuckled, pushing his sweaty hair away from his face. ‘It would appear so; you’re quite a bit out the way down here. Have one of the city guards show you the way out.’ He nodded his head and Bilbo turned to see two armoured Dwarves walking nearby.

‘Of course, of course,’ Bilbo nodded, backing away. He still felt a little flustered, and he was sure his face was red as a beet.

‘Try not to get lost again,’ Thorin smiled.

‘I’ll try my chest – best! I’ll try my best!’ Bilbo could have kicked himself over the blunder, but as it turned out he didn’t have to.

Thorin’s face transformed from an infuriatingly knowing smirk into a look of panic. He reached out with a hand, stepping forward quickly, ‘Bilbo, look out!’

But it was too late; Bilbo had reversed right into a passing Dwarf who was focused entirely on the two forge-heated axes she was holding. Bilbo knocked them straight from her hands and then, in his haste to spin around and right her, trod right on one of the red-hot blades with his left foot.

As hardy as his feet were, it took a good few seconds to notice anything was amiss, but then pain flared though his sole and he leapt back with a cry. ‘Heavens!’ The Dwarf cried, reaching out to steady him as he hopped about. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course I’m not all right,’ he snapped, ‘I’ve burned my foot to blisters!’ Then Thorin was there, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a stern look. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he muttered, grimacing against the pain. ‘Completely my fault.’

‘Yari, fetch those up before some other fool falls over them,’ Thorin gestured down to the swords, and without further ado nor any indication of his intentions, swept Bilbo up in his arms and made for the doorway.

‘Thorin!’ Bilbo cried out, clutching at the very shoulders he’d been admiring not two minutes earlier. It turned out that while sweaty muscles made for a very pleasant aesthetic, they were rather difficult to keep on hold on when one was being jostled about. He settled for looping one arm around Thorin’s neck and curling the other against his own chest. ‘This really isn’t necessary,’ he insisted through gritted teeth.

‘That remains to be seen,’ was all Thorin said before bounding up a staircase as though Bilbo was no more burden than a feather. And so Bilbo resigned himself to being carried about like a sack of potatoes, and focused instead on _not_ focusing on the pain radiating through his foot. It must have shown on his face, for Thorin asked, ‘is it very sore?’

‘Hmm.’ Bilbo groaned, ‘quite a bit, yes.’

‘You see now that we don’t wear these boots for our own amusement?’ He sounded like he was smiling, which annoyed Bilbo to no end.

‘That would imply I thought Dwarves capable of humour,’ he snapped, and Thorin laughed.

‘You can not be in too much pain, if you can still grumble and grouse.’

‘I flatter myself I can do both,’ Bilbo replied petulantly. Thorin only laughed again, the sound rumbling so that Bilbo could feel the vibrations where he was pressed against Thorin’s chest, and he found he could not be too annoyed.

 

They passed through another hall, and then Thorin was shouldering open a heavy stone door with a little effort. It led to a large antechamber, grandly designed but sparsely furnished. Thorin gently deposited Bilbo onto a seat, and Bilbo tried not to feel the loss too keenly as he let his hand slide from around Thorin’s neck.

‘Wait here a moment,’ Thorin instructed, and the disappeared into a side chamber. He returned shortly with a large basin filled with water, and indicated that Bilbo should set his burned foot into it. The water was blissfully cool, and the painful burning in Bilbo’s foot reduced to a steady throb.

‘Oh that’s wonderful,’ Bilbo sighed, sinking back into the chair and letting his eyes slip closed. He opened them when he heard Thorin move away, watching him open a cupboard and reach inside. ‘Is this your home?’ Bilbo asked, noticing the easy way Thorin moved around the room.

‘One of them,’ Thorin nodded. ‘There are several Royal quarters around the city for my use. I sometimes stay here when I work late at the forge.’ He returned to Bilbo, crouching down and laying out a soft looking towel, a small jar, and a folded white bandage.

‘Should we call for a Doctor?’ Bilbo asked, a little nervously, and Thorin gave him a wry look.

‘One does not get to be a Dwarf of my advanced age without knowing how to treat a simple burn, Master Baggins.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Bilbo nodded his head. ‘Sorry.’

Thorin folded his legs beneath him, joints creaking as he settled himself properly at Bilbo’s feet. ‘Now, let’s have a look.’ The touch of his hand on Bilbo’s ankle was so unexpectedly gentle that Bilbo nearly jumped. Thorin gingerly lifted Bilbo’s foot to get a clear look at the sole, and winced in sympathy.

‘Is it bad?’ Bilbo furrowed his brow and gnawed at his lip.

‘Aye,’ Thorin said, his voice grave, ‘we shall have to be off with the whole foot.’ Bilbo’s breath caught for a moment before Thorin’s serious demeanour melted away into a mischievous smile.

‘Oh!’ Bilbo huffed explosively, lifting his other leg to kick at Thorin’s side. ‘You scoundrel!’

Thorin laughed, reaching for the towel. ‘You are entirely too easy to aggravate, Bilbo.’

‘Perhaps Dwarves just have a natural knack for being aggravating,’ Bilbo retorted smartly. He shifted in his seat as the pain began to flare up again in the absence of the soothing water. ‘Is it really all right?’

‘I’ve seen worse,’ Thorin murmured reassuringly, gently drying off Bilbo’s foot with the towel. ‘I’ve _had_ worse. You weren’t touching the metal for long. Still, you should count yourself lucky that your soles are as thick as your head.’ He looked up, eyes twinkling, and Bilbo couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. This side of Thorin was one he was still getting used to; the Dwarf he journeyed with had often been brash and distant, the King under siege had been bitter and paranoid. It was only now, with Erebor finding its feet at last, that Bilbo was beginning to see more of these rare glimpses of humour and wit. It pleased him that Thorin was feeling comfortable enough to let the mantle of King and leader slip away and simply be himself.

Bilbo hissed as the burn throbbed again, and Thorin gently hushed him. ‘This will help.’ Resting Bilbo’s injured foot in his lap, Thorin reached for the jar and uncapped it, dipping two fingers inside. They came out covered in a viscous substance, milky in colour, that smelled to Bilbo like flowers and mint. Holding Bilbo’s ankle steady, Thorin began to smear the balm across the angry red welt. His touch was gentle and soothing as he worked the ointment into the burn with small circles of his fingers. The relief was almost immediate, and Bilbo nearly groaned with delight.

‘That,’ he sighed, ‘is marvellous.’ Thorin simply hummed in reply, and Bilbo let his head drop against the chair back. He thought on how a series of wrong turns had led him so astray, and resolved to carry a map with him everywhere he went from now on. He also felt a twinge of guilt thinking about the poor Dwarf at whom he had shouted before Thorin had borne him away. Suddenly he let out a giggle. Thorin looked up, raising a questioning eyebrow, and Bilbo waved a hand. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking what a sight we must have made in the forge. Me hopping and shouting and you carrying me away in your arms like a babe.’ He snorted.

Thorin smiled, nodding his agreement. ‘It won’t help with the talk, that’s for certain.’

Bilbo frowned down at the crown of Thorin’s head, frowning. ‘What talk?’

Thorin’s hand stilled on Bilbo’s foot. ‘It’s nothing, just gossip.’

‘Thorin,’ Bilbo prompted impatiently, tapping at his thigh with his uninjured foot. ‘What talk?’

Thorin sighed, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Bilbo. ‘If my nephews are to be believed – and that is a considerable ‘if’, you understand – half the kingdom is convinced you have designs on being my Consort.’ Bilbo blinked down at Thorin, then let out a bark of laughter.

‘You have got to be joking!’

 ‘As I said – gossip.’ Thorin reached over and lifted the bandage, unfolding it to its full length.

‘How on earth would such a rumour even get started?’ Bilbo wondered, incredulous. Secretly he began to worry - had he been obvious? Had people noticed looks a little too long, touches a little too lingering? The thought was alarming; Bilbo had only recently noticed these himself, only recently put names and intentions to things he had felt since long before he ever set foot in Erebor.

‘Balin seems to think it may have been started by some newcomers; dissenters, trying to turn folk against me.’ The idea didn’t seem to bother him; he smiled as he gently wound the bandage around Bilbo’s foot. ‘The joke of it is that, as far as imaginary consorts go, I could scarcely have chosen one better myself.’ Bilbo’s heart stuttered in his chest. ‘The people of Erebor adore you,’ Thorin spoke softly, as though to himself. ‘They know you were key in helping to regain the Mountain, though few know to what extent. You were ever a friend to Erebor, even when I was too blind to see it. Indeed,’ he paused, securing the bandage. His fingers lingered, making gentle strokes, and Bilbo thought he saw the tiniest of trembles in them. ‘Indeed I do not know what would have become of us if it were not for you, my dear Hobbit.’

Thorin lifted his head at last, and his eyes were so fond, so full of adoration and _hope_ that Bilbo was moving quite before he had made the decision to. He kissed Thorin hard, putting his hands on his broad, bare shoulders to steady himself. Thorin tensed, his hand instinctively tightening around Bilbo’s burned foot. The spike of pain seemed to clear Bilbo’s head, and he pulled back with a start. ‘I’m-’

‘Do not!’ Thorin interrupted, his hand clamping down on Bilbo’s, holding it fast to his shoulder. ‘Do not say that you are sorry, I could not bear it.’ Putting his weight fully onto his knees, Thorin leaned up, and Bilbo – scarcely believing his good fortune – leaned down. It was a tender kiss at first, tentative, neither wanting to risk shattering the moment.

Thorin’s other hand moved up to Bilbo’s ankle and then higher, his thick fingers splaying out over Bilbo’s calf. Bilbo slid his fingers into Thorin’s hair, still damp with sweat at his temples, but soft and smooth. He let his hand fist in the locks, pressing harder into the kiss, and felt Thorin shudder beautifully.

Bilbo opened his eyes as they separated, looking down with awe upon the King kneeling at his feet. ‘No, this will not help with the talk at all.’ He said softly.

‘Let them talk,’ Thorin growled, surging up to claim his beloved.

**Author's Note:**

> I might might _might_ write a bit of porn as a follow up. We can't have Thorin all shirtless and sweaty for nothing, can we? 
> 
> Thanks for stopping by and reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please comment and let me know if you liked it, or leave some kudos! They really do brighten my day. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as scottmotherfuckinmccall
> 
>  **Edit:** Now with a sequel, 'Flint and Steel'.


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